Page 109 of Forgiving Utah

He said it was more than just a fuck, and it certainly felt like it. Making love, he’d called it. Platonically.

Why the fuck does everything have to be platonic?

Christian hits another rise and throws a clean tabletop, bike flattening out midair before snapping back into line. Taylor follows it up with a perfect Nac-Nac. They’re showing off for each other, and it’d be kind of cute if I weren’t currently sweating my ass off. Apparently, even November isn’t enough to cool off the desert heat.

“These boys, I swear,” Salem sighs, sipping from her water bottle as she joins me in the shade. A slight shock ripples through me when she offers a drink, and her lips quirk at my expression. “Your mouth has literally been on my vagina. I think we can share some water.”

I huff a laugh before accepting the bottle for a sip. “More worried you’ve poisoned it.”

“Oh, trust me, if I wanted you dead, you’d know.”

We stand in silence, watching Christian and Taylor stir up dust. Eventually, Salem pulls out her phone to type a message, and I give her a sidelong glance. “So that picture you took last night. What do you plan on doing with it?”

She hums, keeping her eyes on the screen. “Blackmail, probably. Or revenge porn.” When all I do is stare at her, she meets my gaze with a smirk. “Okay, I plan on sending it to Logan at the most inconvenient time. I like making him hot and bothered.”

“Sounds about right.” Shaking my head, I almost lean back against a cactus before remembering how intensely painful that would be. “I think you thrive on other people’s pain.”

She's silent as she lifts the camera to catch more photos. After lowering it again, her expression has evened out to something almost soft. “You know, up until recently, I thought the same about you.”

“My two missing back teeth think that’s bullshit.”

“Yeah.” With a deep breath, she turns to face me fully. “Hi. I’m Salem.”

I glance down at her offered hand in confusion. “Uh…”

“Salem Peterson,” she continues, smirking. “I’m married to Logan, we’ve been together for two years, and I also have a boyfriend and a girlfriend. Ethically. And I’m a marketing manager. I like taking pictures because growing up, it was the only thing I could control⁠—”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Re-introducing myself without all the fake bullshit. Let me finish.” Grabbing my hand, she forces me to shake hers. “I am also… impulsive, frigid, and hard to love. At least that’s what my mother always told me, and judging by how everyone reacts to me, I believe her. These misfits are the only people on this planet who’ve seen all of that and loved me anyway. We aren’t perfect, but we’re family.”

I pull my hand free, wiping her sweat on my jeans. “Cool. Good for you. Add it to your resume.”

“Now you go.”

“I’m not doing this,” I scowl.

She raises a brow. “Why not?”

“Because you already know who I am.”

“Try me.”

I drop my gaze to glare at the red dirt dusting my shoes, at the dry sage brush and sharp gravel. At anything other than her face.

She waits patiently.

“I’m Devon,” I finally mutter. “Professional junkie and all-around screw up.”

“That’s not real,” she sing-songs.

All I do is scoff. “It’s the realest thing I’ve got.”

Salem doesn’t push it. She just studies me before turning away, and against my better judgment, the words start pouring out.

“I used to ride,” I say quietly. “A lot. Just a mountain bike as a kid, but I was good at it. Like your photography, it was the only thing that made me feel like I had some control. Then I got a motorcycle. Found out that my own parents gave me up at birth, which led me to make some poor life choices. I hurt people along the way, and now here we are. The rest is history.”

The bikes roar past again, engines roaring around us.